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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26171131">Savage Gentleman</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daredevilsinthedetails/pseuds/Daredevilsinthedetails'>Daredevilsinthedetails</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaylessi/pseuds/Kaylessi'>Kaylessi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Albus Dumbledore Lives, Alpha Draco, Alpha and Mate, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, And maybe some non canonical death, Angst on Hermione's side, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Draco Malfoy, Big girls need loving too, But werewolf, Canonical Character Death, Centaurs, Death, Draco makes his own rules, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, F/M, Fighting, Goblins, Gore, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter is mines now, Magical Creatures, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Merpeople, Miscommunication, Morally Grey Hermione Granger, Nontraditional Hermione Granger, Not A|B|O, Order of the Phoenix Bashing (Harry Potter), Out of Character, POV Draco Malfoy, Smoking Draco Malfoy, Spies, SqueezingtheJuuice, Surprise Pairing, Tattooed Draco Malfoy, Uncommitted till Committed, Veelas, Violence, Werewolf, Werewolf Draco Malfoy, jk who, typical werewolf violence, werewolf dynamics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:35:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,830</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26171131</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daredevilsinthedetails/pseuds/Daredevilsinthedetails, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaylessi/pseuds/Kaylessi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Turning the Pureblood Prince into a wolf was only punishment for everyone else...</p><p>Disclaimer - obviously, we do not own any of the recognizable JK Rowling characters.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue - The Meeting, Interrupted</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you to those who read our first story! We are excited to experiment with a darker story this time around. It is very Draco-centric. And no… this is not an A|B|O, but Werewolf.<br/>Canon divergence after Book 5.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  
</p>
<p>Artwork by the amazing @nadiapolyakova. Find her on Tumblr!</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Saving the magical world had many interpretations. It just depended on your seat at the table. Are you sitting at the head, on the side, or do you bring your own chair and sit wherever the fuck you want?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The neutral meeting place that the Room of Requirements generated was barren with the exception of a simple table and two chairs. Doors on either side of the room granted access to the leaders and their two lieutenants only. Once they entered that space, no magic could be used until terms were agreed upon and the Unbreakable Vow administered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re looking well, Tom. I am sorry that we have to meet again under such conditions,” Dumbledore extended as a way of greeting while settling himself into the poshly provided wingback chair. He smoothed down his robes and sat gracefully, templing his hands in front of him. He looked over his crescent-shaped glasses that were perched at the end of his nose, his face an unreadable mask. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Behind him stood a stoic Fred Wesley and his marred brother, Bill. It was a seemingly unusual choice for the Leader of Light to have accompanied him, but thinning forces and his need for plans outside of the room to be executed had left him little choice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Voldermort cringed at the casual use of his mudblood father’s name, a name he had long ago forsaken. “Conditions that have been carefully constructed to ensure that your use of that name must go unanswered. Congratulations on avoiding being at the end of my wand.” Each</span>
  <em>
    <span> s </span>
  </em>
  <span>was drawn out into a snake-like hiss, his hatred coating the words as they exited his mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dumbledore’s lips pulled up in a phantom of a smile. The Room was performing as it should as he goaded his former student. He nodded at the two people that had entered with their Lord, Malfoy Sr. and the young Miss Pansy Parkinson. “Good to see you as well, Miss Parkinson. Mr. Malfoy, it’s been a while.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Had I known this was going to be a social hour, I would have added ‘tea’ to the requirements for the Room,” Voldermort jeered, his irritation barely disguised by his pretentious tone. “Since it isn’t, Albus, I suggest we present our terms to begin the negotiations.” Voldermort snapped his fingers and Pansy took a piece of parchment out of her robes and placed it into his waiting hand. The Dark Lord placed his terms down with a regal flourish. He was resolute on his goal of dominating the meeting and would not be dissuaded by any unnecessary pleasantries. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ever the cunning snake, he ensured to make his initial terms so severe that through this “arbitration” process, he would walk away with exactly what he wanted. This meeting was merely a formality. He would have his way, no doubt about it. What was a small detour such as this to a man who was going to live forever? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right as Dumbledore placed his terms down with a thinly veiled belittlement about to leave his mouth, a third door appeared causing all six people to turn towards it, some reaching for their useless wands out of habit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A tall, broad, shirtless man came strutting out, blood dripping down his hand that was then smeared into his long blonde hair as he attempted to push it back out of his face, exposing a hauntingly white eye. A fur was draped across his shoulders, it too, dripping blood. He was deeply tan, tattooed, and severely scarred. The hand not covered in blood was holding a freshly lit cigarette. From the waist down, he wore perfectly tailored trousers, an elaborate belt buckle, and expensive dragonhide boots, a complete juxtaposition to his savage top half. As he confidently approached the table, he was flanked by a tall warrior woman and a lithe dark-haired man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He surveyed the room and smirked as a chair appeared before him, the Room recognizing him as an invited guest. He placed it between the two older men and sat with an air of refinement, which was completely nullified as he tilted backward in the chair and dropped his feet onto the table with an emphatic bang. He took a long drag from his cigarette, clearly relishing in the shock his entrance had granted him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I would say ‘Sorry I’m late’, but since I’m not, why start this talk off with lies?” He took another drag and looked at the still stunned face of Dumbledore. He winked at the man with his good eye and then turned to greet the other player in the room with a nod that resembled respect, but one could not be too sure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wink seemed to remind the older wizard how words worked as he schooled his features. “This is a private meeting and one that should not have been able to be interrupted. Tom, is this your doing?” Dumbledore finished his questioning with his voice and eyebrows rising with accusation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Voldermort could respond, the blonde man placed his hand over his heart in mock offense. “You wound me, Headmaster. I am good enough for you to try to put me on a leash, but not enough to take for a walk?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Voldermort hissed at him and wished for his wand to remove this offensive bastard from his sight. “What is the meaning of this? Rest assured, I will be discussing your punishment with Fenrir </span>
  <b>
    <em>immediately</em>
  </b>
  <span>.” Voldermort angrily rasped out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man took a moment to push his hair back over his shoulder and adjusted the fur to bring forward the face of </span>
  <b>who</b>
  <span> he was wearing, earning a gasp from Voldermort. “You can talk to Fenrir right now. Don’t know how good of...ummm... a conversation it’ll be, but you can try…” He proceeded to place the head back on his shoulder, dusting some of the dried blood off of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked behind him and made eye contact with the woman. “Told you, didn’t I? Someone owes me an apology!” He sang out, wagging his cigarette in her direction. “Guess you had to sniff it to believe it though, huh?” He didn’t wait for her reaction or response as he swiveled his head to regard the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He let loose a loud exasperated sigh, rolled his functioning eye, stubbed out his cigarette, and then dropped his feet to the floor as he brought himself up to his full height. He clapped his hands together, the sound resonating through the silent room. His eye gleamed and a wolfish grin made its way to his lips. “Well, since we got all dressed up, let’s begin, shall we? It’s a big day, gentleman. Big day, indeed...” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 1 - The Punishment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Starting between Books 5 &amp; 6 - after the Deatheaters failed to get the prophecy…<br/>Gore and violence in this chapter - descriptive depictions of violence in relation to an eye...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> 5 years earlier… </em>
</p><p>The pain was unreal. It was like being burned alive and crucioed at the exact same time. The agony from his eye being ripped from its socket moments before was forgotten as it was eclipsed by the torment that was being inflicted upon him by the werewolf and his accompanying teeth and claws.</p><p>Blood tinted his vision and tainted his tongue with its copper taste. The blood from his eye was dripping down into his mouth, gagging him as he writhed on the ground, unable to find any sort of reprieve from his torture. Death was taking its sweet time to come and save him, but as his heart started to stutter and slow, he resigned himself to his fate.</p><p>Minutes passed, then an hour, then two and death had not come for him. His blood had now dried, his hair crusty and caked. Raw and angry wounds pulsed all over him. The new skin knitted itself together, the push and pull giving him something to focus on as the scars started to blanket his body. </p><p>The scent of the carnage assaulted him and turned his stomach, forcing him to roll to his side to vomit, adding another layer of foulness for him to try to tune out.</p><p>Shakily, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees as he assessed himself and his surroundings. He fingered the hole in his head where his right eye previously resided. Due to its evicted status, his brain had already started to recalibrate to account for the imbalance and he was able to see right below him and straight ahead.  He gingerly cupped his damaged eye in an attempt to stop the vertigo the split vision was giving him. </p><p>The silence that encompassed him almost felt deafening compared to the earlier cacophony. He counted each breath as he carefully reconstructed his Occulmency walls in hopes of protecting what was left of his sanity behind them. Every part of him felt flayed.</p><p>RIght as he got to 60, a telltale pop of a house elf’s arrival startled him, jostling his cradled eye. He was in no condition to move much more than he already had, so he hoped whoever had just arrived was there to finally answer his calls for death. That would be the only silver lining to this horrible day that he could think of.</p><p>“Mistress will be pleased, Master Draco! Shes knews you would be ok.” Kreacher, the old House Black elf, whispered in a hint of excitement. With a snap of his fingers, Draco’s eye made its way back into his head.</p><p>Draco did not feel any version of the word “ok”, but thankfully for the little elf, his throat was too raw from screaming to correct him. He sat mutely as he let Kreacher treat his numerous other injuries. He hoped with each blink of his eye that he would be able to see out of it, but much like his pleas to die, this wish, too, would go unanswered. </p><p>“It won’t be like before, but its will work a bit after a bit, Master. Kreacher will iron his hands for not making it right.” His voice was ladened with sorrow at seeing the state of the young Master. </p><p>Draco nodded. If the fucking elf wanted to punish himself, he wasn’t going to stop him. Misery loved company and all that… </p><p>His father had failed and what should have been a night of glory for him was turned into an evening of humiliation and torment. When the Dark Lord had called him to the drawing-room, he walked in with his head held high. He was ready to be honored with the Dark Mark and join the rank of Deatheaters he had been groomed to be a part of for as long as he could remember. The second the door closed behind him and he saw his mother restrained with tears streaming down her face, he knew something had gone wrong. </p><p>His mother was given the choice to renounce him as heir and he might live or he would be assuredly killed after some sport. She choked out the words, renouncing him as a Malfoy, the power passed to her as his father had been caught and sent to Azkaban, with barely a moment’s thought. Some version of alive was better than dead, or so he foolishly thought, right before the putrid breath of Voldermort’s favorite pet hit his neck. </p><p>His brain replayed vividly the viciousness that followed in such a loop that he was unwillingly reliving each bite, each tear, each cut. He started counting again, almost manically, to get his walls higher, shoving more and more behind them like he was Montresor walling up Fortunato.* </p><p>The elf summoned water and forced it into Draco’s hands. The young man looked at the cup quizzically as if he had forgotten what water even was. Gently, Kreacher lifted the cup to his new Master’s mouth and coaxed him to take small sips. “Yous need to rest a bit longer and then wes to go home Master Draco.”</p><p>Draco tried to clear his throat, but it felt like glass and gravel were lodged within it. He croaked out, “Where?” More small sips of water helped cool his aching vocal cords as he waited for the elf’s answer. He was no longer a Malfoy, so what did he mean by “home”?</p><p>“To Ravenswood, the House Black ancestral home. Mistress be there, waiting for you.” The previous hint of excitement had morphed into full-fledged elation at the mention of Ravenswood.</p><p>Draco cocked his head in an unasked question. Was his mother OK and how did she make it to a Black property? He knew Sirius would never aide his mother, even if they were cousins.</p><p>“The filthy traitor has died and Mistress and yous are Blacks now. Come, we leave now.” With a sharp snap, he transported them both from the filth stained floor of the Malfoy dungeons to a freshly turned-down bed in an otherwise dusty room. </p><p>“Rest, Master,” Kreacher muttered, and as if it was a command, Draco instantly complied.  </p><hr/><p>Draco smoothed his shirt down to rid it of imaginary wrinkles. His hands shook with a slight tremor as he steadied himself to look in the mirror at his ruined appearance. The scars had faded in the two weeks he had convalesced, but still prominent enough to draw attention to his mutilated eye. He rearranged his fringe to cover as much of it as he could, but the cloudy white mocked him from his reflection. He gave himself one more minute to breathe and then spun away before he broke yet another mirror out of anger.</p><p>His mother was waiting for him by the front door with a tight smile on her face. Her pureblood manners were in full effect, but neither had their Occulmeny shields in place quite yet. It was funny how his brush with death had allowed her to be a bit more vulnerable with him…</p><p>“Draco, darling, it is not as bad as you think. A slight disfigurement can come across as quite distinguished if you embrace it.” She reached up to push back his hair like how he used to wear it, but he intercepted her hand and gave it a quick squeeze to signal his desire for her to leave it. She sighed in defeat and nodded her head in acquiescence of his request. </p><p>He grabbed her other hand and brought both of them to his lips for a hint of a kiss on her knuckles. Tears threatened to fall down her cheeks, but she refused to show any more weakness. Their eyes met and the ingrained habit of clicking their mental shields into place was enacted and when their eyes met again, all emotion had been erased and cold blankness was in its stead. Draco straightened his spine and apparated to the edge of the Malfoy Manor. </p><p>Having been stripped of his name, he could no longer apparate in and out of the Manor proper. He was actually grateful for being forced to walk from the gate like a plebian. It gave him more time to gather his thoughts. The last time he had been summoned by the Dark Lord, it had not gone quite how he was expecting, so he was attempting to placate himself by thinking how much worse could it be this time around.  </p><p>Draco forced himself to swallow down his emotions regarding how the mighty Malfoy house had fallen. In the course of one evening, a dynasty had collapsed. Over a thousand years of pureblood wizards had ended with him. The magnitude of that revelation almost brought him to his knees. If he was not a Malfoy, <em> who </em> was he? <b> <em> What </em> </b>was he? That name had been his legacy and identity and now it was taken from him. The past two weeks had been about him attempting to come to terms with the physical changes that had been forced upon him, but he had yet to even begin to contemplate what he had lost.    </p><p>He had regretted his decision in wearing long sleeves and all black by the time he had made it a quarter of the way up the drive. By the time he had made it the rest of the way, he was drenched in sweat. His coat had been removed and his shirt buttons loosened to try to bring some relief to his warmer Werewolf body. Cooling charms were doing just a shade above nothing and he suddenly understood why Fenrir was always bare-chested. He hoped that his temperature would regulate a bit after his first shift. </p><p>His foot hit the first step of the entryway and the door swung open to grant him entrance. He put his jacket back on and adjusted his fringe in a final attempt to ensure he was presentable. He crossed the threshold and was accosted with the scent of dark magic. He had barely registered it before as a resident of the manor, but now it was so offensive, his nose involuntarily wrinkled. The house was eerily quiet - deathlike. His shoes echoed throughout the foyer as he made his way to the formal dining room where Voldemort was holding court. </p><p>The double doors parted and revealed the Dark Lord seated in the center of a long black table. The Death Eaters were arranged according to who was in favor of their Lord. The recently freed Azkaban prisoners seemed to be shunned by everyone else in attendance as they huddled off to the side not wanting to draw any more attention to themselves. </p><p>Draco scanned the cluster of wizards. All looked bedraggled, weak, and tired.  His eyes landed quickly on the disheveled figure of his father. His long hair was scraggly, his skin gray tinged, and, even from a distance, he could tell he had lost at least a couple stones. Their eyes met for only a brief moment before his father looked away, his expression unreadable. </p><p>“It’s good to see you standing, Draco. I was afraid that Fenrir had maybe been a bit too rough with you. I tried to tell him that you were not a chew toy, but it is hard to teach an old dog new tricks.” Voldermort slithered out, his voice tittering a bit with a chuckle at his own joke. </p><p>His comment earned a slight growl from the aforementioned Werewolf, starling Draco and alerting him to his presence. Fenrir was on the side of his bad eye, lurking in the shadows as he waited to collect his new wolves. His sudden movement shifted his hair away from the damaged side of his face, revealing his clouded eye to most of the inhabitants of the room. </p><p>Seeing the former Malfoy heir shrink away from his sire and the wounds on his previously pretty boy face earned a cackle from the deranged Bellatrix LeStrange and an evil grin from their Lord. He held his hand up over his eye as he called out, “Should we reach out to Alastor Moody to see if he has a spare eye you can borrow?” His mockery earned a boisterous laugh from everyone seated at the table.</p><p>Draco bit his tongue to stop himself from responding. He raised his head and waited silently to find out why he had been summoned. He put his hands behind his back to disguise the fact that he was starting to shake with fear. The mood of the room had him very nervous. He knew what kind of men these people were and he did not like where this seemed to be headed for him.</p><p>“Awww… puppy thinks he’s human!” Bella shouted out, her black teeth in contrast to the sugary voice tone she used to emphasize her insult. She started making smooching sounds and patting her lap like she was calling a dog to her side.</p><p>Blood was pooling in his mouth, but he was determined to keep it closed. He knew they wanted him to respond, to fuel their sadistic nature, but he refused to give them what they wanted. He kept his eye focused on the fireplace mantle behind his mother’s sister. He would not acknowledge this woman as his aunt any longer.</p><p>As Draco continued to attempt to keep his composure, a ripping sound resounded through the room and his perfectly tailored jacket fell to the floor around him in tatters. “Still trying to pretend to be a pureblood prince, I see.” Voldermort tutted. He then proceeded to shred his shirt, leaving him dressed from the waist down only. The vicious bite and gnarled scars were on display for all to see. The Dark Lord sneered as he looked over at the elder Malfoy. He stared at him as he asserted, “Dogs don’t need clothes.” </p><p>Lucius bowed his head, his humiliation weighing heavy on him. The scrapping of a chair made him snap his head up as he witnessed Yaxley raising his wand, his intent to try out a curse on his son evident. He wanted to speak up, to stop what was happening, but was beaten to it when a gruff voice broke through the din.</p><p>“These boys have a shift tomorrow. I gotta get them to the pack before then. Can we take our leave, my Lord?” Fenrir rumbled out. His mouth was brimming with sharp teeth causing the words to snag on them as they left his lips. He grabbed the scruff of the neck of the other boy sitting in front of him making him stand up and stalked over to Draco’s position in the center of the room. </p><p>Voldermort’s lips curled up. Fenrir was not a favorite of his, by any means. The Werewolf was a barbarian, but he had his uses, obviously. It had been an ingenious punishment - setting the wolf loose on the heirs of these pampered purebloods. He was impressed that Draco and the other one made it through the transformation. He had thought the Flint boy would have made it through, seeing how big he was, but regardless, the message had been well received by his followers. He would not tolerate any further missteps that would hinder his immortality. With a wave of his hand, he conceded to let the wolf leave with his new toys. He had more pressing matters to attend to. </p><p>To his left, Bella let out a little cry. She jutted out her lip as she pouted, “But I wanted to test his healing abilities. I had my knife all cleaned up after the first one and everything.”</p><p>Voldermort patted her hand. “You had plenty of time to play. I will summon them again after their shift...” He cocked his head to the side as he added, “...if they make it.” A reptilian grin spread on his face. He leaned back in the chair and placed his hands on the armrest as he watched Fenrir lead the quivering sods out.</p><p>Draco turned his head and spit out the blood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He pivoted out of Fenrir’s grasp, knocking him into the other boy. The boy looked up and Draco’s eye widened in shock. </p><p>He gasped out, “Theo?!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*Montresor and Fortunato are from the Edgar Allen Poe story "The Cask of Amontillado"</p><p>The next chapter, and each subsequent chapter, will be in a different chunk of time and the story will not follow a linear timeline, per se. Pay attention to the notes at the beginning of each chapter for the year/timeline.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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